Spellbound
by Junipertree
Summary: Alexander of Tirragen... What does he want? What does he have to hide? [actually updated for the first time in literally years]
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Tammy's stuff, nor the fact that Alex is a hottie… *winces at rotten fruit thrown at her* So he tried to kill Alanna…. Twice….

PS, the title has almost nothing to do with the fic. I just got the idea for this from a poem called 'Spellbound', which I don't own either. Emily Brontë does.

This is like a total rewrite of a fic I did over a year ago, called Alexander of Tirragen, which sucked, for a few reasons: It was a total rush job because I was working on something else at the same time, and I sure as hell hope that I'm a better writer now than I was a year ago. So, I'm doing it over again.

And has anyone here ever read A Swiftly Tilting Planet? Remember how each chapter was named after the verse in a poem? Anyway, that's what I'm trying to do here.

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Spellbound

Prologue

__

The night is darkening 'round me

The wild winds coldly blow;

But a tyrant spell has bound me

And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending

The bare boughs weighed by snow

And the storm is fast descending,

And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,

Wastes beyond wastes below;

But nothing drear can move me;

I will not, cannot go.


	2. The night is darkening ‘round me

Disclaimer, yada yada yada, not mine, not mine

PS- don't take the chapter names literally- I'm trying to make them have metaphorical meaning. (what a pathetic attempt, eh)

****

Spellbound

__

The night is darkening 'round me

Alexander of Tirragen lay on his back in the grass, staring up at the sky. It was getting dark**, **and he should go backfor dinner, but somehow, he didn't care. His life was just falling apart, anyway. 

__

I knew it was coming, he thought._ I should have expected it. I'm the youngest son, and what else would I do if not become a knight? I'd just sit there, eating away at Tirragen's coffers, that's what I'd do. At least, that's what Father says. That I've got to make something of myself._

But Alex didn't _want_ to make something of himself. He wanted life to go on as it always had. He didn't want to be a knight, tightly bound by a set of oaths that made him serve the king and Tortall. He honestly didn't give a crap about King Roald- he could do whatever he wanted to, as long as it didn't affect Alex.

__

"Then what do you want, son?" his father said. "Are you just going to sit here for the rest of your life, doing nothing? What do you want_?"_

"I don't know!"

"You're going to be a fine swordsman, son. You're going to be the best- I know it. You can do it, son."

Alex laughed bitterly. He knew why his father wanted him out of the fief. Because he looked so much like his mother. Darron of Tirragen hated to be reminded of his late wife- and he saw her all the time in his youngest son. Alex was the only one of three other boys and one girl that looked anything at all like his mother. With his dark hair and complexion, Alex could have been his mother's twin.

Alex was good- he knew he was good. The weaponsmaster of Tirragen had trained him since he had begun to walk, and old Thachy said that one day Alex would be far better than him. But what meaning did that really have? Fighting was a rush, to be sure. But it just didn't interest him. Sometimes Alex wondered was _did_ interest him, and always came up with nothing. It was like his father said – he had to do something with his life, or he'd just lay about forever, wondering what he should do.

Sighing, Alex got to his feet. He really did have to get back, this really wasn't the best time to be out. Matron would scold him for staying out so late. Suddenly he paused, hearing a noise in the bush. His hand instantly groped for a weapon that he wasn't wearing, cursing himself for his stupidity.

He scanned the bushes for movement, and came up with nothing. It was just nerves, that was all. He turned back to the keep and started to walk away. A faint hissing of air was his only warning when something heavy and clawed landed on his back. He could hear hissing as needle-sharp claws dug into his spine, throwing him to the ground and pinning him on his stomach. He tried to roll over but the weight on his back prevented him, scratching his neck when he tried.

Sharp fangs sank into the back of his neck, deep enough to startle a cry of pain from him. The animal let go and started licking the now freely-bleeding wound with a coarse, scratchy tongue. Alex fought and kicked, but he couldn't get out from underneath.

He knew now what the animal was. Every man, woman and child in Tirragen knew of the were-creatures that roamed the mountains and forests of the fief, and took precautions against them. Men never went out at night unarmed, if at all. Iron horseshoes were nailed above doorways and windows to keep the creatures out. Alex, like many other Tirragen children, had never believed the stories of the half-man animals. He'd scoffed and called them baby's bedtime stories, and never took the slightest precaution after dark.

The werecat, sated, leapt off his back and trotted into the bushes, only pausing once to look back at Alex. He lay there, staring at the creature that had attacked him. Maybe twice the size of a normal cat, its sleek fur was patched black and white. It's eyes were brilliant green, piercing the night air to bore deeply into Alex's own. Then it left.

Alex shivered for a moment, wishing he had brought a cloak, then got up. He wished he had brought his cloak. He lightly touched the back of his neck with two fingers, expecting to come away with blood, and was surprised to find them clean. The bite had nearly healed.

The scratches and puncture marks on his back were gone as well. The only marks of his assailant were the rips on the back of his tunic. Not knowing whether or not to be scared, Alex walked back to the keep.

~*~

Alex hurried up the stairs to his room, wanting to change before his father or Matron noticed the rips on the back of his tunic. He made it to his room and changed into fresh clothes, then ran down the stairs again for dinner.

During the meal Alex hardly picked at his food, pushing it around his plate with what he was pretty sure was the wrong fork. 

"What's wrong, son?" His father asked. "Eat. You'll need your strength for the journey tomorrow."

"I'm fine." Alex half-heartedly shoved some food down his throat, though he knew the cook had made a special meal for the page-to-be. As soon as he could get away with it without being impolite, Alex left the table and went to bed, double-checking the locks on his shutters. On second thought, he rummaged through a drawer for the iron horseshoe that he was supposed to be hanging above the window, but had taken down because he didn't believe in 'silly superstitions'.

He hung the horseshoe on the nail above the window and absently scratched his hands before taking off his shoes and tunic and sliding into bed.

~*~

They (meaning Alex, his servant, and a guard) left the keep at dawn, hoping to make as much time as possible before sundown. As they rode through the streets of Tirragen to ward the gate, Alex took the last look he would get for years at his home. The streets were nearly empty at this hour, though people were rousing from their beds and probably making porridge by now.

Nothing that interesting, nothing he hadn't seen before, except... Alex did a double-take, turning around nearly backwards on his horse to see.

A pair of glowing, green eyes peered at him from around a corner. He could just barely see the outline of a small girl, about his age, hunched in the shadows, her iridescent eyes following him as he left the village gates.

~*~

Alexander's father followed his son until they were well away from the fief. The last thing he said to Alex was, "Make me proud, son." 

Alex nodded mutely and turned his horse west to Corus. 


	3. The wild winds coldly blow

Discalimer: It's not mine, it's Tammy's how many times to I have to say this??

Umm, I haven't read the Lioness quartet in… a while. I pretty much got them hammered into my brain after the sixth time reading them, but if I make any mistakes, don't hesitate to tell. ; P

****

Spellbound

__

The wild winds coldly blow;

So this is Corus.

It was bustling, all right. Loud, crowded, smelly - quite a contrast from serene Lake Tirragen. The people here jostled to and fro, going about their daily chores, having loud conversations in the street, yelling to buy, buy, buy. Despite the fact that it was freezing outside (the high winds just made it worse), the marketplace was full to bursting. Just the noise itself was enough to drive a country boy mad.

__

I'll never get used to this place. The palace was a relief from the city, guards standing attention at the gate as if to stop any of the insanity of Corus from leaking into the Royal Palace.

Alex's guard, Kane, turned back to Tirragen when they reached the palace - he would not be staying with Alex. However, Rodric, his twenty-something manservant, would.

Alex and his escort went past the gate with hardly a word spoken on either side - once he entered the palace, he was swiftly brought to the office of Duke Gareth, who was in charge of the pages.

"Alexander of Tirragen, eh?" The Duke looked down at his papers. "Well, welcome, Alexander. You will work hard here - very hard, but it is all in the hope that perhaps you might learn something." He smiled cheerlessly at his own joke. "If you work hard enough, you will be rewarded with time off - but believe me, you will _earn _that time off. If you misbehave - well, there are plenty of chores here that need doing."

The Duke went on to explain about pages and squires - Alex wasn't really paying attention, he'd heard it all before from his father.

"I see you brought a servant with you?" The Duke turned to Rodric. 

"Yes, your grace," Rodric said. "I worked here for a few years before moving to Tirragen. I know my may around the palace."

Gareth nodded. "Right, then. You show Alexander to the tailor. Dinner is in an hour, you'll be expected to attend." He put out his hand like he expected Alex to kiss it - which Alex did.

"Yes, your grace." His father was quite strict on deportment - Alex was familiar with such manners.

At the tailors, Alex was measured by a snappy old man and his clumsy assistant, dumped with a gigantic pile of clothes, which he carried to his room (it was the third from the end of the hall - his name was written in chalk on the small board on the door) and dumped on his bed. He picked out an outfit and changed behind the large folding screen in his room, leaving Rodric to fold and sort his clothes.

Alex entered the dining hall after a bit of wandering - despite Rodric's directions, he still became rather lost. He figured out where he was supposed to get his food from, then paused with his tray, looking around at all the tables, wondering which he should sit at. At some tables there were soldiers, a few servants, any guests of rank too low to be sitting in the great hall with the king.

Alex must have looked rather lost, because a boy about his age tapped him on the arm and pointed to a table where some others in the same uniform that he was wearing were sitting, eating and talking.

"Um, you're a first-year, right? You should be over there." The boy talking to him was a rather self-effacing blond fellow. "I'm Francis. Of Nond." He held out his hand, and Alex shook it.

"Alexander of Tirragen." Francis smiled shyly, and led the way to the table. 

"Francis! Who's the new kid?" a tall, rowdy boy with darkish hair yelled across the table. That began a string of names and introductions, which Alex tried his best to memorize. Most important, of course, was Prince Jonathan, who was starting as a page this year. The tall boy was Raoul of Goldenlake; and then there was Gareth of Naxen, the Duke's son. There were a few others after that, but those were the ones that Alex thought most important.

"Hey," Gareth, who was sitting to his left, leaned over. "Just to warn you – take a look at that guy down the table. Blonde hair, sitting beside that page who keeps scratching his nose?" Alex nodded. "Watch out of him - that's Ralon, he's trouble." Gareth went back to his conversation with Raoul, leaving Alex to wonder what he had meant.

~*~

It was late at night, and Rodric was asleep in his chamber. Alex had been here for almost a week now, and he still wasn't falling into 'the rhythm of things'. His classes, plus homework took up his entire day - he had _no_ free time. Of course, Alex's father had told him all this, as well as the other boys, but it was one thing to hear it, and another thing entirely to experience it. He chafed at the rules and regulations, and though his work was relatively easy, there was just _so much_ of it. 

He shifted at his desk again, trying to concentrate on his history homework. He just couldn't think tonight. He kept looking out the window at the moon, thinking, _I should be out there._ Finally he just got up and started pacing, unable to stand still. What was wrong with him tonight? He _should_ be tired, but somehow, he was wide awake. He felt like he could keep pacing like this all night, and be spry and uppity the next morning.

Alex turned to the window to look at the moon one more time. The light shone in softly though his window, calling him. Suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. He _had_ to be outside. He clawed at the windowsill, fumbling with the latch. The latch seemed cold to his hands, so cold that it burned. Somehow he got the shutters open and clambered up on the sill. His room was two stories off the ground, but Alex wasn't afraid of falling at all.

The night... Alex sniffed the wind. It smelled of freshly cut grass, horses, the forest. He wanted to go, be out there. His neck itched, the sensation travelling all the way down his body to his toes. 

Smoothly and without warning, he jumped off the windowsill into the darkness. For one terror-stricken moment, he seemed to hover there, two stories above the ground, until he plunged towards the ground to land on four feet. _Four feet?_

He began to run, run and keep running. Fur rippling down his back as his bone structure seemed to re-arrange itself. His running began to grow smoother, faster, more connected. He only had one destination: the forest. He yearned for the hunt, the chase, blood.

~*~

A pair of brilliant green eyes flashed in the night as a guardsman watched. He made the sign against evil on his chest and prayed that he had imagined it.


	4. But a tyrant spell has bound me

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine. All Tammy's.

Oh, and iron hurts fairies, silver hurts were-creatures, if I know my mythology right - but who the hell has silver latches on their shutters? 

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Spellbound

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But a tyrant spell has bound me

Alex wandered through the streets of Corus, plainly lost. He was looking for the Palace, he had to get back to the Palace, he was late for staff practice.

What was he doing out here in Corus, anyway? He wasn't allowed in the city yet. Everyone was pushing around him, crowding him in, he couldn't breathe. He needed to get _out._

He could hear yelling in the distance. Angry shouting, mob shouting. Many lights bobbing behind him. Alex broke into a run, pushing through the crowd that was suffocating him, wrapping him in molasses so he couldn't move.

He was running full out now, not looking where he was going and ran _smack_ into someone - _sorry_ - he looked up into the face of a suave, richly clad man with a goatee. "I'm sorry, your lordship…"

"Don't apologize, young man, you're just the one I was looking for." The man put his hand on Alex's shoulder. "Now, about this…"

Alex looked over his shoulder nervously. The lights were coming closer, he had to move, but this man kept a firm grip on his shoulder. Alex wriggled uncomfortably, but he would not be so impolite as to wrench himself from the grasp of a man so obviously important.

The bobbing lights were nearly upon him now, and he could hear the shouting, calling his name. He tried to run, but the man's grasp on his shoulder became tight, painfully so, digging into his collarbone.

Just as the lights came upon him, everything around him disappeared. He had his back against a wall, and he could see something coming for his face, fast. His sword was on the floor, the breath knocked out of him. Just before the fist connected with his nose, driving bone splinters into his brain, he thought he saw the face of a woman, surrounded by a bright red haze.

~*~

Alex sat up stalk straight in bed, sweating. He didn't scream. All he could remember of his dream was a woman's face and a painful orange glow.

~*~

"Wake up, Alex." It was midmorning, during Myles' history class.

Alex shook his head, dragging his palms across his eyes. Something had happened that night. A strange dream, he supposed. Dreams did that, sometimes. Yes, that was probably why he was so tired. Tossing and turning all night will do that. "I'm fine, Gary."

Gary rolled his eyes. "No, you're not, or you'd be arguing with Myles by now. I'm sure he thinks you're ill or something. Late night studying?" he sympathized. "Listen, Alex, you'll never finish it all, I've tried. Don't stay up past midnight or you'll be dead the next morning, everyone knows that."

Alex had heard the lecture before, and ignored it again. _They give us all this work, why can't we finish it? It's stupid. By the time I become a squire I'll be so far behind I'll have had more work undone than finished. It's pointless and silly._

Somehow Alex dragged himself through the rest of the day.

~*~

Alex returned to his rooms and frowned when he saw the pages of his undone homework scattered across his desk. Why were they not cleaned up? _Oh... I remember Rodric went down to the city today on an errand - he wouldn't have cleaned up. I must have fallen asleep at my desk._

Alex's brow wrinkled_. Then why did I wake up in bed? Sleepwalking, maybe. Maybe I woke up late at night and moved. It doesn't matter._ He was about to sit down to said homework and finish it when he noticed that the window shutters were open, the curtains fluttering in the breeze.

__

Why are they open? He shook his head. _Maybe I was warm and wanted a breeze. Concentrate on your work, Alex._ Well, it was chilly in here now, so Alex walked over to the shutters and reached for the latch to close them - and quickly drew his hand back. The latch was cold, and it felt strange against his fingers. It sort of itched, burned cold. Not quite pain… but close. 

He closed his eyes for a second, and the memories flooded back etched on the insides of his eyelids. The cold burning of iron on his hands…

Alex looked at his palms. There were faint red welts on each palm, looking like he'd been burned perhaps a week ago, and had healed since.

He realized what this all meant, and leaned his forehead against the shutters. _No... stupid. Stupid. Foolish idiot. Why didn't you think, you fool..._

~*~

The weeks, months passed. Alex's training as a page continued - he was summoned to Duke Gareth's office a couple times, asking how he was doing. Letters were sent home to his father, saying that Alex was doing well in his studies. A market day or two came and went.

The most markable day that year was definitely the day Alex began to learn the sword. Duke Gareth had decided that the pages of his year - Jonathan, Gary, Raoul, Francis, and Alex himself - were ready to learn fencing. 

Aram Sklaw, head of the Palace Guard, was to be their coach - not that he seemed to have any faith in his student's abilities. 

"The Prince, huh? Bet you never did a hard day's work in your life, sitting around in court with the ladies."

"Gareth of Naxen - I suppose your father got you into this class out of pity. Practical jokester, I've heard of you. Never take swordwork seriously, you would."

"Raoul of Goldenlake - more brawn than brains, I see. Probably think that's going to get you your shield."

"Francis of Nond! You look like you'd run away from a sword first chance you could - wouldn't want to callous your lily-white skin!" 

"Alexander of Tirragen... hmph." Sklaw only snorted. He turned to the Duke in disgust. "Your grace, I'd like to be excused."

The Duke only looked amused. "You say that every year, Sklaw, and you haven't walked out yet. Go on." 

The first thing the boys began was to learn how to forge their own swords - they were taught by a member of the guard named Isaac Doan. Alex's forging wasn't all that great, and neither were his classmates, for that matter. The end result was a practice sword for each of them - not something that one would take into a serious battle, but good enough for their purposes.

Some of the others struggled with the sword, but Alex had been learning how to fight since he could walk – granted, that was with a rapier, but many of the principles are the same. The strikes and blocks came naturally to him, almost as if he wasn't learning it - but like he was remembering something long forgotten.

Since there was an odd number of boys, Alex often found himself matched against the guard Isaac, or Sklaw himself, who would repeatedly hammer him into the ground.

"_Move,_ boy!" Sklaw yelled at him during one match. Alex was puffing, arms aching, and the captain wasn't even breaking a sweat. "Don't just stand in one place, or run back and forth on a line! This isn't a rapier match between a couple of soft-handed nobles – this is _real_ fighting. No salute, no code of conduct, no rules. Scanran raiders don't have rules, boy, and they don't deserve 'em. Never stay in one place, and never trust your opponent. This means no _rules_." Sklaw lunged and whapped Alex's sword out of his hands, stinging the back of his hand as well.

It wasn't that that got to him - Sklaw was an experienced fighter, who had beaten Alex countless times. It was the humiliation. Sklaw was laughing. This uncouth common-blooded wretch was laughing at him. But Alex said nothing, knowing that it would only get him more chores.

"No rules, boy. It's not who wins, it's who stays alive. Remember that." 


	5. And I cannot, cannot go

Disclaimer: All this is the property of Tamora Pierce, not me. Don't sue.

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Spellbound

__

And I cannot, cannot go.

Son,

I am very pleased to hear that you are learning your lessons as a page well, and are rapidly progressing in your studies. Life continues here at Tirragen; this year crops have grown well over the summer and it looks to be a bountiful harvest. Your brother Simeion is beginning to take charge of small parts of the keep; he is taking care of home well.

I hope you are well and wish you well in your studies. I'm proud of you, son.

Sincerely,

Lamont of Tirragen

~*~

It was the beginning of Alex's second year as a page - his first had gone relatively smoothly, and his progress was reported to his father in letters home maybe once a month of two.

Alex worked during nearly all of his spare time - doing his 'homework', and practicing swordwork. Given the choice, though, he would neglect the written work and practice his drills. That is, he would practice until Gary or Raoul would drag the 'workaholic' away to have some fun. (Francis was too shy to do any dragging, and Jonathan was a bit of a workaholic himself).

Much on Alex's nights were spent on homework, if only to make him tired enough that he wouldn't dream. Circles under his eyes and dragging leaden limbs out of bed in the morning were much preferable to dreams.

There was only one night each month that Alex could not help but dream - and he knew they were not. When the moon shone full and bright outside Alex's window, he would travel the woods upon four legs, hunting for blood. 

Alex told himself always to stay in the wood, never, ever to go into the city. Even in his unclear state of mind as a cat, he could remember to stay away from Corus. But the scents of people called to him, luring him to civilization. So he told himself he would wander just a bit closer, to deeper inhale the scent of the lower city; rowdy drunks laughing at bars with cheerful waitresses of negotiable virtue, working men whistling as they return home, mothers tucking small children into bed. 

He wandered just a bit closer every night, he'd never actually enter the city, never that. Always stay outside the city walls.

He kept telling himself that, until one night he found himself climbing in the window of some anonymous commoner. Found himself padding across the bed, stalking his slumbering prey. Found himself digging his teeth into his victim's neck, a wet gurgling noise escaping from her windpipe as his fangs ripped her throat apart. Found himself licking the blood that trickled down her neck to stain the blankets bunched around her torso. Found himself bounding out the window into the night, leaving her still body lying on the bed.

~*~

Alex woke up the next morning with the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.

For a few minutes he sat there, absolutely still except for the occasional blink of his eyes. _I have killed,_ he thought. But it changed nothing. He just sat there, frozen in his bed. He knew that, as a knight, he would most likely be called upon to kill his fellow man, in the service of his king. He would not stay pure as snow for long. He knew that.

He also knew that he had not expected to kill an innocent person before his thirteenth birthday. He knew he should have been horrified. But he felt nothing.

~*~

"Are you okay, Alex?" Gary asked at lunch, concerned. Alex's attention had been focused completely inward all day, he had hardly said a word. 

Alex shook his head and continued with his work. "Yeah, I'm fine, Gary. Just tired, is all."

"You should get some sleep. Don't work so hard, Alex."

~*~

Strangely enough, another besides Gary asked if Alex was doing alright that day - Sir Myles, with whom Alex argued the Code of Chivalry on a daily basis, kept Alex after history to talk to him.

"I'm fine," Alex insisted.

Myles didn't look so sure. "You haven't said a thing all class, and you look quite pale. Are you sure you're doing all right? If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm always here to listen."

Alex's opinion of Myles was not high - the man was kind, granted, but his views on knighthood did not agree with Alex, and he was the court drunk to boot. Alex was too polite to say it to his face, but criticized Myles quite frequently around his friends.

"No, I'm really fine, thank you." Alex forced a smile. Myles didn't look convinced, but let Alex go. 

~*~

That night, Alex felt stuffed inside, and, even though it was past curfew, went out for some air. 

He crept behind the stables to hide where he could breathe fresh air in peace. After sitting still there for a few minutes, be began to pick up on the conversation of a couple of stable hands.

"…Yah, that was a big one. Say Curt, you hear 'bout that lass down lower city?"

"Depends. I hear 'bout lots o' lasses, heh heh." They both laughed.

"No, this ain't 'bout no pretty face. It's only rumor, 'member, but I heard there 'us this girl, she 'us found stone cold dead in 'er bed. Nobuddy knows who did it. An' ya wanna know the scariest part?"

Alex froze.

"What?" the other stable hand asked in a hushed voice. 

"She's throat is all ripped up, like it 'us _teeth._ There 'us claw marks on her bed, too. They say some kinda animal came in an' just -" Alex heard a choking noise.

Alex put his hands over his ears, not wanting to hear any more. He felt sick. Somehow, he stumbled over towards the bushes and retched up what little he had eaten at dinner. He then ran straight back to his room and got into bed, burying himself in blankets. He sat there and cried for the rest of the night, and hated himself for being so weak.


	6. The giant trees are bending

Disclaimer: For the umpteenth time, it's not mine, I wish it was…

I'm not taking the dialogue and events straight out of ATFA, and I'm not even picking up the book, so it's not perfectly accurate. The sequence of events may be a bit off as well.

NOTE: This chapter was sitting around on my computer for over a year before I realized that I'd never posted it. O.o Here it is in all its belatedness...

I might well continue this fic later, after I've completed my latest project and reread the Alanna Quartet (I barely remember the details).

****

Spellbound

__

The giant trees are bending

It was about half an hour before dinner, and Alex had just gotten changed when he heard a commotion down the hall. He stuck his head out the door to see a knot of pages clustered together a little ways down. From the sound of it, it was a fight.

"Is that what you've been doing… kissing pigs?" Alex ran down the hall, peering over heads to see a short redheaded boy (in a page uniform that was much too big) jeering at Ralon of Malven. Alex had never crossed Ralon personally, but had heard stories from those who had. _Ralon only picks on those smaller than he is, anyway. If he came near me, I'd swat him with the flat of my blade so hard he'd fly all the way to the desert._

Ralon took a swing and the younger boy, but it hadn't gotten far before Jonathan intervened. There were a few harsh words exchanged before Ralon sulkily left, giving the redheaded boy a dirty look (and probably wishing he had the guts to give the Prince that same look).

"What's your name, fire-hair?" Jonathan asked.

"Alan of Trebond." The boy looked up at Jonathan defiantly.

"That's the prince, lad." Gary whispered.

Jonathan introduced each of his friends in turn. The boy seemed to be all right – certainly he had a bit of an attitude, standing up to Ralon as he had. Alex gave the lad as friendly a smile as he ever gave, but said nothing (as usual).

Alan did prove to be a good friend – he had a fine sense of humor and a strong personality, his size being equally balanced off by his awful temper. Alex sometimes helped her with math homework – the boy tried far too hard, trying to finish everything (everybody knows you can't – it's impossible).

Alan also had many more troubles with Ralon – and though Raoul was more than willing to beat the crap out of him, Alan seemed to want to handle it himself. _I can respect that. _Alex was still quite startled when Alan beat Ralon within an inch of his life and sent him yipping home to his mother – there was quite a bit of determination in so small a lad.

One of the biggest changes in Alex's life came with the death of his friend Francis.

Francis had always been the soft, quiet one – delicate, even. Raoul had been the one who brought him into the 'group' for some strange reason – they were complete opposites. Alex had been good friends with him, Francis being the only member of the group who would willingly keep his mouth shut for more than fifteen seconds.

Despite Francis being shy and scholarly-looking, he had had a firm determination to become a knight. It was too bad that he would never go beyond a page.

He had died from the Sweating Sickness – a cold followed by a burning fever that left not a single person unscathed. Alex himself had it for almost a week before it faded, but the sickness had not been as kind to others as it had been to him. Francis was delirious in the first night, and died shortly after.

The death was a heavy blow to Alex, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. It was not Alex's fault, there had been nothing he could do about it. What hurt him most was that Alex, who was barely sick at all, was not told about the event until long after it had happened.

Meanwhile, the Sweating Sickness moved on through the Palace. Both the King and Queen had it… but somehow Prince Jonathan remained unscathed until the very end. It was then that Jonathan succumbed to the sickness – everyone thought he would die.

But he was mysteriously cured by… Alan? Alex hadn't known the boy possessed the Gift at all. He claimed that Sir Myles had talked him through it, but Alex heavily doubted that – it seemed as if there was more to the purple-eyed boy than Alex had first expected.

One thing you could say for Roger, he was incredibly charismatic. One smile, a little flash of perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth, one wink, and you trusted him like you had known him all your life.

You couldn't deny he was an incredible man. He was one of the most (if not _the_ most) powerful sorcerers in the Eastern Lands, and brother to the King – and quite handsome, to boot.

Alex immediately succumbed to Roger's charm, as did most everyone else in their group. The only one who seemed not to like Roger was Alan – well, that boy was strange, anyway. Alex quite admired the man, but couldn't help feeling as if he had seen Roger before. There was no way, of course – but Roger seemed startlingly familiar. Alex, not to be bothered by something he couldn't do anything about, soon forgot about the strange feeling he had.

"You claim to have no magical Gift, am I correct?" The Duke's wording seemed to imply that he did not believe Alex, but he gave nothing away in his tone.

"No, your Grace."

"Hmm. Well, it's my job to find out if you do – whether it's hidden away by inner barrier, or more mundane means. Have a seat, Alexander."

Alex obeyed, showing no hint of the nervousness he felt as he took a seat, resting his hands in his lap. The Duke sat across from him, leaning his elbow on the small, round table between them. His other hand snaked towards his belt to pull out his sorcerer's rod, which had been casually tucked there.

The Duke didn't touch Alex at all – physically, at least. He just twirled that rod of his with his fingers, looking as if he was staring blankly into space.

Then Alex felt as if there was something poking his head, probing his brain. It wasn't a pleasant sensation at all. It made him twitch and squirm in his seat, but it was mild compared with what was to come. His head felt like it was being drilled to the center – then, as if the drill had found nothing there, it continued on down his neck, as if he was swallowing a very large and painful pill, down until it reached his heart. Alex gripped the table in a viselike clamp, something building inside of him.

Suddenly his mind lashed out, clawing whatever it was that had drilled his body. Alex opened his eyes with a start (not even realizing he had closed them in the first place) to see Roger nearly knock over his chair standing up.

Suddenly the Duke smiled. "Very interesting. Well, you have no Gift, so I shan't teach you – but I know our paths shall cross at some other point in time. You may go, Alexander."

Alex, severely shaken and desperately trying not to show it, bowed quickly and rushed out of the room before Roger could see the expression on his face.

Just _what_ had all that been about?

Alex was walking to the weapons salle one day to find somebody already occupying it. It was Alan, doing passes and swings at an invisible target with a sword that was nearly bigger than he was. Not wanting to interrupt, Alex stood to the side until Alan finished.

Alan laid his sword down carefully and wiped the sweat of his brow as Alex gave the younger boy a round of applause.

"Not bad, Alan. Almost as good as me." Alex grinned as he walked towards him.

"Ha." Alan snorted. "I've seen you fence. There's no way I'd even touch you."

"You underestimate yourself." Alex said.

"Right."

The older boy raised an eyebrow. "Don't believe me? Would you care to try?" He drew his practice sword, settling into his fighting stance.

"No thanks, Alex." He laughed and picked up his blade again, sheathing it. "I want to make squire all in one piece."

Alex relaxed. "Whatever you say. If you ever want to fight, I'm always open."

"Yeah, thanks." Alan walked out of the salle. "See you, Alex."

Alex shrugged and hefted his sword up for a few warm-up exercises.


End file.
